


Goodnight, Cecelia

by carvedwhalebones (fuckyeahlucifersupernatural)



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7664983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/carvedwhalebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Corvo, Cecelia is not just a servant. She's a Loyalist and, maybe, something a bit more...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodnight, Cecelia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vanimiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanimiel/gifts).



> **Prompt:** This is for @highestchaos/vanimiel who requested for Corvo/Cecelia.
> 
>  
> 
> **Tumblr URL: carvedwhalebones.tumblr.com**

In the return of each mission and venture outside of the Hound Pits Pub, Corvo is, usually, greeted with at least one of Loyalists’ leaders. Tonight, however, there is none. The Loyalists have deemed it far too late of an hour to be up and have retired, leaving Corvo to shuffle his way to the pub, the scent of blood heavy on his being. What was meant to be a quick and painless mission has turned into a chaotic scene of flying bullets, cranked music boxes, and clash of swords. Midway through carrying the unconscious Lady Boyle down through the kitchens, the wrongness of the situation gripped him. He couldn’t hand her off to the Lord Brisby. 

Lord Brisby was hardly pleased by the turn of events and Corvo’s valiant efforts to spook the man into silence failed. He went off whimpering through the kitchens before howling for the guards. There Corvo found himself awkwardly pinned, unable to take Lord Brisby’s escape route without another pair of hands at the crank. Corvo did his best to maneuver himself out of the Boyle estate without firing a bullet or taking a life, ending with a roaring headache and a few bullets sinking their way into him. Sokolov’s elixir helps to slow the bleeding and The Outsider’s Mark preserves him. The walk into a darken pub, however, does nothing to improve his spirits. 

Cecelia finds him on his laborious trek up the stairs, her footsteps having gone nearly unheard during her approach. 

“Cor — sir, you’re hurt,” she is already standing next to him, her hands reaching out as if she wants to support him, but they hover, unsure. Corvo gives her a quiet look, tempted to politely brush her aid off and make the walk to the attic on his own, but… The older male winces as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his new wounds aching in unison. He gives a nod and offers his closest arm to her.

Cecelia stares at him, confused, taking her a moment to realize her offer has been accepted. “O-Oh, of course,” she stammers out in surprise, suddenly all movement, doing her best to take some of his weight when she slips under his arm. Corvo dwarfs her small stature and he has to make a conscious effort not to lean heavily into her when he finds it difficult to raise his foot in completion up each step. Cecelia must have noticed, because she is huffing out with a rare, but not unseen firmness in her voice, “I can carry you, sir.” 

He’s heard this voice a few times before, usually when she’s sharing her dream of owning the pub as she sweeps the hallways. 

The Lord Protector gives a semblance of a smile and an apologetic sound before he gives her more of his weight. She’s struggling up each step with him in tow, now, but she doesn’t complain or ask for a moment of rest.

“We should get you to the bathroom, first, sir. Lydia has bandages and ointment on the shelf,” Cecelia voices when they reach the second floor, quietly leading him to the servants’ quarters. 

“Corvo,” the Lord Protector groans out when they reach the bathroom, the door closed and giving the older man the chance to talk, once more. Cecelia’s brows pinch together. “Call me ‘Corvo.’ Just — ” the Lord Protector grimaces as he takes a seat on the edge of the tub, carefully taking off his equipment and coat, “— ‘Corvo,’ please.”

Cecelia hides a smile in the collar of her coat, giving a nod. 

She helps with wetting the available washrags in the bathroom for Corvo and wringing out the blood in the sink. Corvo digs for the bullets that have nested themselves into his gut and Cecelia forces herself not to turn away from the gruesome sight, holding her ground and providing whatever aid she can. When she inquires of stitching up the wound, Corvo declines with a cryptic response, stating that, ‘ _he’ll_ heal it for me when I sleep.’

She doesn’t pry, but curiosity sits in her eyes, fixating on the strange mark on Corvo’s left hand. She busies herself supplying clean bandages, making sure their ends are tied, before she catches herself retreating further into the room out of habit. Cecelia makes a quiet face before she’s moving a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair back into her cap. 

Corvo looks up when he hears the sigh that leaves her.

“No one tells me anything. I know that I don’t do the same…work that the others do. I’m not like the Admiral or Lord Pendleton, but I do the dirty work Wallace gives me. I know it has to get done and I always get it done,” she’s fidgeting with her hands, her eyes not quite meeting Corvo’s, staring at a spot on his forehead. Cecelia pauses to take a breath, continuing with what she hopes sounds solid and unyielding, “I’m a Loyalist, too. Don’t I deserve to know what’s going on, too?” 

Her words peter out near the end and she turns her head towards the sink in disappointment. 

“You do deserve to know what’s going on,” Corvo’s voice cuts through her thoughts. Cecelia forces herself to look back at Corvo. “I took care of the Boyle funding Burrows. I was planning on…passing her onto someone else, because of the convenience, but I decided not to, in the end. That can’t be who I am and because of that decision, I caught the attention of the guards,” Corvo reports, clearing his throat and making a gesture to his bandaged torso, “No one was seriously injured, but I found myself cornered and here I am.” 

Cecelia gives a nod, a quiet thrill and boldness racing through her system at the fact that the Lord Protector is _reporting_ to her — _**reporting**_!

“You said someone will heal your wounds?”

Corvo rolls his shoulders, making a small face before it passes, “The marking on my hand will help properly seal and heal the wounds. It allows me to…heal quicker than others.”

  “Like those charms I hear about,” Cecelia ventured, Corvo giving a nod.

“In a sense, but far more potent,” he concludes. The answer satisfies Cecelia who is giving a nod of her own, standing a bit straighter in the bathroom. Alit with energy, she wants to do something productive with this information, but she’s not quite sure what. “I see your hard work, Cecelia, and I see you,” Corvo continues, the young woman coming to a pause, the pinch of her brows relaxing. 

Corvo takes the stretch of silence to pick up his discarded clothes and slip them on, finding his gear and looping it loosely around his frame. He gives a polite bow of the head towards Cecelia, offering her a smile, “I should get some rest and so should you. I think I can make my way up to the attic.” 

Cecelia gives a nod, a mumbled _‘of course,’_ as she watches Corvo reach for door. The moment feels unfinished and it’s tempting to drown in the feeling being put.  That determined set of her mouth and shoulders is the only warning to her next movements, taking hurried, spontaneous strides towards the Lord Protector. Rising on her tiptoes, nearly swaying into Corvo’s arm, she gives a kiss on his cheek. She lets it linger on his cheek before she’s peeling back with an apologetic look twisting with surprise over herself. 

The Lord Protector only stares back at her, expression unreadable.

“I — sorry, sir — Corvo. I just wanted to thank you,” she begins, adding quickly in afterthought, hit with thoughts of the consequences of such an action, “for telling me.”

Corvo gives a slow nod, his hand resting on the doorhandles now, “Was that just in thanks?” 

Cecelia knows he means the kiss and her cheeks burn something fierce. She opens her mouth to apologize, again, but the older male is quicker. 

“You don’t have to tell me now,” he assures, gently, something soft settling on his lips that catches Cecelia’s attention. It does nothing to help the near deafening roar of her heart beating in her throat. “It was nice,” Corvo adds, pulling a small smile from Cecelia. She wants to say something, but words are currently failing her, leaving her to give a nod in response. Corvo dips his head, once more, before opening the bathroom door, “Goodnight, Cecelia.” 

It’s only when the door closes after him does Cecelia let go of the breath she didn’t realize she has been holding, feeling her mouth ache with the smile stretching across her face. 

“Goodnight, Corvo.”  

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
